aressed the tip of her nose with a small, pink thumb. She
was not the kind who hesitated.

"You can do me a favor," she said, and halted.

The Philippine orchestra burst into a lilting one-step. Miss Vost
arched her eyebrows. Peter arose, and they glided off. It developed
that Miss Vost was well qualified. There was divineness in her
youthful grace; she put her heart into the dance. It seemed probable
to Peter Moore that she put her heart into everything she did.

"You spoke about my doing a favor," he suggested, glancing sternly at a
dark-eyed Eurasian girl who seemed to be trying to divert his attention.

"There is a man in Shanghai I want you to try to find for me--to-night.
Last time I saw him--this morning--he was drunk. He was the first
officer on the steamer that brought me up from Amoy. Perhaps you know
him. He's only been on the coast a short while. Before that he ran on
the Pacific Mail Line between San Francisco and Panama. His name is
MacLaurin, a nice boy. Scotch. But he drinks."

"MacLaurin? I know a man named MacLaurin--Bobbie MacLaurin."

"No!" gasped Miss Vost. "I suppose I ought to make that old remark
about what a small world it is! Do you know where Bobbie MacLaurin is?"

"No," he murmured. "Why is he drunk?"

"That is a matter," replied Miss Vost, somewhat distantly, "that I
prefer not to discuss. Will you try to find him for me? He threatened
to be--be captain of the river-boat, the _Hankow_, that I leave on
to-morrow for Ching-Fu. I'd rather like to know if he intends to carry
out his threat. Will you find out, if you can, if he is going to be
sober enough to make the trip--and let me know?" requested Miss Vost,
as the music stopped. "I'd rather he wouldn't, Mr. Moore," she added
quickly. "But I do wish _you_ were going to make the trip. I'd love
to have you!"

The ex-operator of the _Vandalia_ experienced a warm suffusion in the
vicinity of his throat. In the next breath he felt genuinely guilty.
As he looked deep into the anxious, appealing gray eyes of Miss Vost,
he cursed himself for being, or having the tendencies to be, a trifler;
and in his estimation a trifler was not far removed from the reptile
class. Yet somehow, damn it, that trip to Ching-Fu on the _Hankow_
appealed to him now as a most profitable excursion, for Ching-Fu was
only a few hundred li from Len Yang.

Something of the doughtiness of a mongoose marching into a den of
monster cobras charac